


Case No. 78

by Tigertarkla45



Series: The Cambridge Institute [1]
Category: Original Work, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Horror, Spooky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23766085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigertarkla45/pseuds/Tigertarkla45
Summary: Inspired by the lovely podcast, The Mangus Archives, my friends and I have come up with a similar institution that operates in the United States. It is called the Cambridge Institute and is based in Cambridge, Massachussetts and is loosely associated with Harvard. Founded in 1871 we intend to play a monster of the week RPG set during the late 1930's. I have decided to do some short stories that are from the archives of the institute for my own entertainment as we try to get everyone in a good place to play the game. The stories will take place between 1871-1935, before the events of the game wiil take place.This first case takes place during the winter of 1899 in Winfield, Colorado. It is the first hand account of Edward Lewis, a researcher for the Institute.
Series: The Cambridge Institute [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712095
Kudos: 1





	1. September 13, 1899

_ Taken from the Journal of Edward Lewis, Cambridge Institute Researcher 1895-1910 _

September 13, 1899; Winfield, Colorado 

We have finally arrived at our destination after over a week of travel, largely by train but the last leg by wagon. I have to admit, while the journey has been arduous, the land in the great Rocky Mountains is breathtaking to behold. Stephen Mitchell, my colleague, is less enamored of the scenery and claims my shortness of breath is due to the "damnably high altitude". Still, I find the bright yellow of the turning Aspen leaves amongst the dark green of the conifer trees captivating. 

Stephen has looked over my shoulder at what I have written down so far and has suggested that I leave out the flowery language for the rest of the account since this is supposed to be an academic endeavor. I will try but my poetic pen can be hard to quell. On to business matters. 

We have come here to Winfield, Colorado at the behest of Alexander Parker. He has tasked himself with revitalizing the local silver mine which took quite a downturn when the silver market crashed in '93. He is a Harvard educated man which explains his knowledge of the Institute and the sort of phenomenon we study. We have arrived just as winter is about to set in for Mr. Parker insists that whatever plagues this small town, becomes more active as the snow first begins to settle over the land. According to Mrs. Price, the proprietor of the boarding house where we are to stay for the duration of the winter, that should be fairly soon despite today's weather being quite fine if not a bit crisp. 

Stephen has once again reminded me to stick to the facts, how he can tell I have drifted off topic from across the room, I do not know. The original letter requesting the Institute's aid has been archived so I cannot include a copy of it here at the moment. It only occured to me to start writing in this journal when we arrived which is a remarkable lack of foresight on my part. Stephen insists that I be the one to write down our experience as he is "not much for writing". Considering his former work, I am satisfied with this arrangement. 

The facts, as relayed to us via Mr. Parker are these. Mr. Parker arrived at Winfield in August of 1898 in order to inspect the mine and to secure workers in effort to reopen it. He found the town of Winfield predictably depressed with a somewhat wary population. After several failed attempts to gather workers from the local population he finally pieced together a sort of story. The locals all feared a monster, something that largely hunted during the harsh winter months but they all feared it lived deep within the mine during the summer months, waiting. No men would enter the mine while they believed the beast still lurked within. Mr. Parker became convinced that "The Beast" was merely a bear that had simply made a den of the mine as it lay abandoned. He was able to gather a group of men to clear out the mine of any critters from the nearby town of Buena Vista. The men went into the mine on the morning September 23rd, 1898, they were expected back that very evening. When evening began to fall, the men did not emerge. Mr. Parker did not think much of it, assuming that the men had simply decided to camp near the mine, which is a few miles from Winfield, and would return in the morning. On that night, it snowed. The storm was of such great ferocity that Mr. Parker was unable to reach the mine for several days, and he had again assumed that the sturdy men he had hired were unable to likewise reach Winfield. Even after the effects of the storm had cleared, the men did not return and Mr. Parker took it upon himself to investigate. What he found convinced him of the locals' claims and resulted in him contacting the Institute. I will omit the description of the scene, for even now the details turn my stomach. It will suffice to say that it was a grisly scene and not a single man of the group of eight that was sent to the mine survived. 

In his letter Mr. Parker goes on to detail the long Winter he endured. He was unable to leave Winfield for the duration due to the heavy snows. He states that those who stayed inside and kept vigilance through the night were able to survive. Those who didn't, fell prey to the beast. When he was first able to, he sent a letter out to the Institute and after a few exchanges our director felt it appropriate to send us to investigate and get to the bottom of this incident. 

We will not be meeting Mr. Parker here at Winfield since he has vacated the town for the time being. He currently resides in Denver, Colorado as he is reluctant to fully abandon his stake in the mine. Our hope is that we can resolve this issue and Mr. Parker will be generous with his gratitude. Though the Institute is of a scientific and academic persuasion, matters of finance often influence our actions. 

I will end this entry here for Stephen is complaining about the light. Tomorrow we plan to question the locals to obtain a more complete telling of the events. 

_ Note: A copy of Alexander Parker's original inquiry to the Cambridge Institute has been included to clarify this entry. - M. Elliot.  _

To: Director Edgar von Eitenberg of the Cambridge Institute

Dear Sir,

I am writing to enlist your help with a dire situation. I took my education at Harvard and heard of your Institute while I was there. I will admit that I initially thought of your institution with some derision but the events of this past winter have convinced me that only your Institution can provide assistance. I will start at the beginning. 

I had what I believed to be the good fortune to obtain the deed for a silver mine located in Winfield, Colorado. Despite the crash in '93 I was optimistic that I could make the mine profitable again. Shortly after acquiring the deed I traveled to the site to inspect my new acquisition. I arrived in Winfield in early August of last year. 

My foray to the mine was uneventful. As I was on my own, accompanied only by my horse, I did not venture far into the mine. What I did see was in slight disrepair but nothing that I felt would greatly hinder my plans to get the mine working again. I returned to town with the intent of recruiting some of the local men to begin the work required. I expected this to be an easy task since the mine had been shut down for sometime and I expected the men to be eager for work. I was met with unexpected resistance. The men simply would not entertain the idea of going into the mine, nor would they give me a reason for their refusal other than muttering something about death and a beast. I was finally able to get the full story out of Mrs. Price, the owner of the local boarding house. The story she told me sounded preposterous at the time but in hindsight I wish I had paid it more heed. 

Her story began during the winter of ‘96. The winter that year had started out particularly harsh and that combined with the diminishing wages from the local mines had created an inhospitable environment. People were starving so, when a rare break in the weather occurred, several of the men banded together to attempt a hunt. Despite the deep snow, the weather was sunny and the men were optimistic about their chances. The weather changed, as it so often does in the Rocky Mountains, and the men were forced to take refuge in the mine. The ensuing storms trapped them for weeks. Many in town believed that the men were all lost, but in the Spring, as the snow began to melt, 2 men emerged. They were thin and dirty with a haunted look in their eyes, but alive. Neither man seemed inclined to discuss the methods of their survival and the only thing they would say of the other 3 men in the hunting party was that they had died. When others went searching in the mine, no bodies could be found. Both the men came back changed by their experiences. John Whitaker became a recluse who retreated to his cabin that was situated a little out of town. He refused to talk to anyone in town. This was a drastic departure from his former behavior where he was most often described as a busy-body. After several weeks of no one seeing him, Mrs. Price, accompanied by Eli North, went to check on him. They found him dead, emaciated as if he had starved himself. Carved repeatedly into the cabin walls was a singular phrase, “May God forgive me”. The other man, Alfred Carver, boarded at Mrs. Price’s house. While reluctant to discuss his experiences, not much of his behaviour changed at first but his taste in food changed drastically. He refused to eat any vegetables or breads, wanting only meat, cooked as rare as Mrs. Price would allow it. As time went by he began to change his sleeping patterns, sleeping during the day, blocking all daylight from entering his rooms by any means possible. As the summer went on, his behavior became more erratic, he was quick to anger, violent at times. Mrs. Price details a time when she was woken in the middle of the night only to find Mr. Carver in the kitchen, eating a raw cut of beef like some sort of animal. Soon after that she evicted him from the house. No one is quite sure what happened to him after that but some people claim to have seen him lurking in the woods nearby. 

The following winter of ‘97 was kinder in terms of the weather but not kinder on the population of Winfield. Men who attempted to hunt in the woods told tales of being pursued by some sort of beast. Initially they believed it was a rogue bear that had not gone into hibernation for the winter, but that theory was quickly discredited. Men who went into the woods began to disappear so soon they stopped going all together. This did not stop the beast. It began to come into town in the night. The residents could hear it, the eerie howls it emitted echoed off the fresh snow. They would wake to find scratches gouged deep into their doors, strange footprints leading to and from the woods. Occasionally they would wake to find a trail of blood across the pure snow as some poor livestock or person was dragged back to the beast's lair. This continued through the winter and the townsfolk learned to fortify their homes as they hunkered down in hopes they would survive. They feared leaving, even during the relative safety of the day. As the winter gave in to spring the nightly visits tapered off till they seemed to stop completely. Even with the visits halting, the townsfolk believed that the beast had taken the mine to be it’s lair and they have avoided the site and surrounding woods since. 

After hearing this, I scoffed at such preposterous tale. I concluded that the townsfolk's initial theory was correct, that a rogue bear had taken up residence in my mine, and I intended to rid the place of this creature. Since none of the locals would go near the place, I traveled to the nearby town of Buena Vista to employ eight sturdy men to help me. On September 23rd the men, properly outfitted to take on such a beast, headed into the mine. I did not join them. I was raised in a city and felt, with my limited knowledge of hunting, my presence would be more of a detriment than an aid. As evening began to fall, the men did not emerge. I did not concern myself overly with their well-being, concluding in my head that they had camped down by the mine, which is a few miles outside of town. Overnight, a storm came through and resulted in me not being able to leave town for several days. I assumed that the men were in similar straits and comforted myself with the knowledge that they were well equipped to survive such conditions, both in experience and gear. Several days later, despite the improvement in the weather, men did not return, so I took it upon myself to go and assure myself that they were okay. 

As I approached the mine, I should have known something was wrong. The snow on the path lay untouched, as if no man had even attempted to leave the area. I noticed the smell first. It smelled of rot, decay and blood. Subtle at first but stronger as I approached the mine. My horse, who I now know was wiser than me, balked and I found myself thrown into the snow. I convinced myself, despite my horse returning back to town, that since I had come so far I may as well press on. The smell was nearly overwhelming as the mine came into view and I was so preoccupied with deadening the scent that it took me a moment to register the scene before me. I noticed the snow first. The pure white beneath my feet had given way to a deep, dark red. I stepped back, my eyes going to the opening of the mine. Two carcasses hung there and my mind initially identified them as deer or some other sort of similar game but upon further inspection I realized the horrifying truth. They were men, skinned and hung out like wild game. I was only just able to hold back my scream. I turned and ran and in my panic I could swear I heard an unearthly howl pursuing me. 

I made it back to town and would have left Winfield immediately, if it wasn’t for the thick snow that began to fall. I was trapped for the time being. It took awhile for the nightly visits to start. Looking back, I suppose the eight men that I sent to their deaths provided the beast with enough meat for a time. The visits did start though. The townsfolk had learned from their previous winter and had fortified their homes appropriately. I spent nearly every night that winter haunted by the howls that reverberated in the little valley, listening to the sounds of scratching upon the boarding house door, terrified that the beast would find a way in. I lost my horse that winter, others in town similarly lost livestock. We only lost two men though. I can still remember the screams of the first man who was taken and the gunshots as the second failed to fend off his attacker. As soon as I was able to leave I made my way to Denver where I currently reside. 

I am writing in hopes that you may be able to help me rid Winfield of this monster. It is not about the money but about the good folks of Winfield who took me in over the winter. They deserve to be rid of this evil and I must atone for those fine men I sent to their deaths. Please, I implore you, help me. 

_Alexander Parker_


	2. September 14, 1899

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Investigation continues.

We rose early today so we could start in on our investigation. I kept Mrs. Price company while she prepared breakfast and she reiterated the account she had told Mr. Parker as well as confirmed the story of his stay here this past winter. After she had finished I asked her why she chose to stay at Winfield. It seems to me it would be better to remove yourself from the danger. She said, and I quote:

“I left my husband. He was a right bastard, beat me so often I thought my face would stay permanently black and blue. I finally got up the courage one night and walked out. Kept traveling west till I came to Colorado. Found myself in a small town working in a laundry. I worked my hands ragged for nearly a decade, saved up any penny that I could. Didn’t even know what I was saving for. Then one day I picked up a paper and saw an advertisement, someone selling a boarding house in a bustling silver mining town, and wouldn’t you know, I had just enough money. I ain’t ever owned anything in my life before I owned this place and I’ll be damned if some monster is going to run me off from it.” 

After a hearty breakfast provided by Mrs. Price we went into town. I wanted to question what little remained of the town’s population but Stephen wished to see Eli North’s cabin for himself. Mr. North was one of the surviving members of the hunting party who were trapped in the mine during the winter of ‘96. As Stephen has a more forceful personality, we did as he wished. 

The cabin was set far enough back from town that it took us just over an hour of walking to reach it. The walk was pleasant as the weather has remained exceptionally fine in my opinion. Even Stephen, who seems to find nature something to complain about, seemed to enjoy the walk. The cabin itself has been left untouched since Mr. North was found and removed to be interred in the town’s small cemetery. I imagine the townsfolk left it alone believing it to be cursed or something of the sort and I can well believe them after what I saw there. 

The door was hanging askew and if it wasn’t for Stephen’s superior strength we would have never gained entrance. (Stephen will likely disapprove of my descriptions of his strength if he reads this but it truly is spectacular.) The air inside was stale, it reminded me of the tomb I witnessed being opened in egypt. The interior was dimly lit from the mid morning sunlight coming through the cabin’s two windows and the now open doorway. The cabin wasn’t terribly big, just one room with enough space for a stove, a small table with one chair, a small cabinet and a bed. Along the rough hewn walls were the words that Mrs. Price told us would be there, carved into the walls with what I assume was a knife. 

I could feel the despair in the place without even utilizing my unique skills. Still, I removed my gloves and let myself feel the full impact of the emotions that were imprinted on that place. When I laid my bare palm on the wall I could not even feel the rough texture of the walls beneath all the guilt and sorrow that was layered there. I soon found myself overwhelmed and must have wavered on my feet. When I finally came back into myself, Stephen was escorting me back outside. He settled me on a convenient stump and assisted me in replacing my gloves before going back into the cabin to give it a thorough search. I have to admit that his steady reassuring hands helped me regain myself faster than normal.

There was not much to be found in the cabin, just evidence to corroborate what we already knew. Stephen did find a small journal in the back of the cabinet. I will be going through it now that we have returned to our rooms. I am hoping to find some relevant information within the pages but I do not have much hope. What little I have seen of the pages seem to be nonsensical rambling. I will copy down any relevant passages within these pages. 

From the journal of Eli North : 

_ I find that I hate the sunshine these days. Perhaps hate isn’t the right word. I don’t deserve the sunshine. It makes me feel too alive. I don’t deserve to be alive. If I had died in the mine I would not have to suffer. I sometimes dream at night, I feel his teeth on my bones, breaking them open to get out the marrow. I try not to sleep. I ask God for forgiveness but I fear there is not forgiveness for the likes of me.  _

_ Al came to visit me. I did not let him in. He tried to kick down the door but the bar that I placed there held strong. He sat outside, talking to me. He has no remorse for what he did. He misses it. He craves it. He talked of it for what seems like hours till the sun finally began to set and he went back into town. His words stay with me even now and I can not seem to shut them out. I may fear for my soul but I fear that Al’s soul has long been gone.  _

_ Everything I eat tastes of meat. I found a can of peaches. They were pushed way back in the cupboard. My hands shook as I took them out and I nearly sliced a finger off in my haste to get them open. They looked so perfect, all yellow orange and sweet. I haven’t eaten in so long. I pressed a piece between my lips, praying that this would be it. The minute it touched my tongue all I could taste was THAT taste. I couldn’t even force the bite down my throat. I ended up retching up the nothing that was in my stomach. I keep asking for forgiveness but perhaps I am beyond God’s forgiveness.  _

The majority of the journal is filled with nonsense, mostly the same phrase carved on the walls of the cabin, “May God forgive me”. Past a certain point the ink changes, I hesitate to actually touch the book but judging from the smell, I believe Mr. North began to write using my own blood. Given the writings I do believe it would be best to discover what exactly happened in the mine that winter though the thought of descending into such a place fills me with cold dread. 

Mrs. Price is calling us for dinner and I do believe that I have reached the end of my reserves for the day. The investigation will continue tomorrow. 

**_Note: The journal of Eli North had been placed in the artifact storage and thus was safe from the fire. After a bit of searching it was located and has been placed in the proper storage. I found it to be just as Mr. Lewis has described in his account. I have no doubt that the ink on the latter pages is blood. - M. Elliot_ **


End file.
